Nothing starts the day like a hearty execution
by JackJNO
Summary: This story was inspired by my love of Frank Herbert and all things Dune. The primary characters are not of Dune, but I'd compare them to the product of an Atreides and Harkonnen breeding experiment. I proudly introduce to you...the house of Van Laven.


**CHAPTER 1**

The low roar of the crowd grew louder in the cramped arena. Spectators crowded into the aisles and walkways making passage impossible. In the lower areas closer to the stage, the privileged class enjoyed more spacious accommodations. Between them and the rabble was a thick layer of armed guards. They moved through the crowd with menacing scowls, shoving and kicking back the crowd as if they were dogs. The guards were somewhat ceremonious since the force field was the primary barrier between the nobles and the proletariat. But history had taught them a bloody lesson, since then the guards served as a back-up defense. In a place such as this, it was imperative that order be maintained. Some of the most prominent citizens of Nethic would be in attendance, including Nethic's royal family. Indeed, King Crausin Van Laven himself, would arrive soon.

Crausin Van Laven, ninth King of Nethic, better known throughout the empire as the Grand Duke of Nethic, stood at the observation window of the cruising vessel. As they flew over the capital city, he observed the magnificent buildings below, marveling at how the city had grown and prospered during his 33 year reign. Just before he came into power, Nethic was quickly fading away as a major galactic power. His father's neglect of global affairs took its toll on the economy, both domestically and inter-galactically.

It took great pains and sacrifice to turn the tide, but Nethic once again emerged as a major player on the inter-galactic scene. No one doubted that it was Crausin's genius that propelled Nethic back to the top of the heap. But as often the case with genius, madness nipped at the heels.

Reflected in the window, he spied a piece of lint on the navy blue sleeve of his uniform. He brushed it off before peering at his image. He smirked. At nearly 60 years of age, he looked no more than a man in his late 30's, even his lustrous, raven hair was naturally void of any distinguishing gray. His fair skin just now began to show the faintest signs of wrinkles at his brow and at the corner of his eyes. His stunning greenish-blue eyes, captivating all who looked upon him, had just as much spark and vigor as the day he began his reign. Standing over six feet tall, he cut a striking figure, ever vigilant to maintain a fit frame. To say he was handsome would be as adequate as saying the night sky had many stars. For the beauty of his countenance was matched only by the brilliance of his mind.

He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, knowing precisely who it was long before he cast his eyes upon him.

"Gods below! I can not wait to get this infernal business over with," Prince Comron Van Laven said as he entered the observation area. Like the King, he wore a formal military uniform reserved for the royal family of Nethic. "Nothings starts the day quite like a hearty public execution," he said dryly.

Now that Comron rapidly approached the age of 30, achieving a notable guise of maturity, Crausin found looking at Comron to be much like looking in the mirror. The prevailing opinion was that, unlike his younger brothers, Comron received none of his mother's appearance, but took every bit of his likeness from Crausin.

Grinning as Comron drew near, Crausin replied, "How very macabre of you."

Both men, of equal height and stature, gazed out the window with their hands clasped behind their backs.

"It's such a waste. These were all excellent officers with admirable records."

Crausin raised a brow. "That isn't sympathy I hear in your voice?"

"Hardly," Comron responded with a frown. "Their execution will fit well into our design. All will know that even a stellar, well-decorated record will neither stay the hand of judgment nor the wrath of the Van Lavens."

"No mercy, then?" Crausin asked, testing Comron's resolve.

"Treason must not be tolerated. Mercy would be perceived as weakness at a time like this."

Crausin shook his head. "They spit in the face of the prosperity we've brought them. All citizens of Nethic will feel the benefits in due time. But patience, not rebellion is required at present."

Comron turned a grim eye on Crausin, "The execution will serve as an excellent reminder of this."

At the center of all the attention were seven men still in military uniform but stripped of rank and insignia. They stood at center stage encircled by a group of heavily armed like attired military guard. Evidence of the brutality visited upon them appeared upon their faces and bodies. Even though they awaited their execution as traitors to Nethic, they stood boldly full of defiance.

Trumpets blared and drums began to beat. The nobility responded by rising to their feet along with rest of the crowd. All eyes turned towards the domed ceiling and watched as the surface began to retract. The ceiling opened enough to allow three vessels bearing the royal insignia of the ruling family to descend into the vicinity of the arena, hovering just above the chained prisoners. The smallest of the vessels completely descended to the floor of the arena before the prisoners. The crowd roared at the arrival of the royal entourage.

The lead vessel's armor morphed away to reveal four men standing proudly at the bow. Bedecked in ornate, regal attire, there was no question as to their identity. The crowd saluted the King of Nethic and his three sons. His eldest son stood half a step back at his right, the younger two a further step behind to their father's left. For a moment the King stood in silence as he surveyed the throng of spectators. He could see that they were hungry for blood, but whose blood remained the question weighing on him. His gaze fell upon the traitors.

These prisoners were former military leaders who had joined the rebels. He knew that publicly executing these men would elevate them to status of martyr, further fueling the fire of rebellion and disorder. But knowledge of their defection was public, therefore the punishment for such must be likewise. The punishment had to be swift and merciless to discourage would be followers. King Van Laven had been known for ruling with an iron fist and now was no time to prove otherwise. Now more than ever he needed to act with incisive power.

The state of affairs had rapidly declined over the past ten years and showed no signs of improvement. Just the fact that the royal family could only attend this event in an armored vessel, instead of sitting in the family box, spoke volumes about the volatility of the situation.

"Good citizens of Nethic, I bid you welcome!" he cried out to which the crowd erupted with cheers and unintelligible responses. "We have gathered for an event that deeply troubles my spirit. It saddens me deeply to see the once protectors of our great and glorious kingdom," he extended his hand toward the prisoners, "become its enemies." He raised his voice over the groans of the crowd. "My council has worked tirelessly over the past several years to address the needs of the people. For we understand that certain fundamental parts of our system are broken due to neglect, causing a great number of our citizens to suffer. But there is no easy solution, the ineffective systems require a complete overhaul. But know this, profound change cannot come overnight!" He waited for the cries to subside before proceeding. He glanced to his right at his eldest son, Comron, whose stern expression was impenetrable. He was a rock, completely unaffected by the temperament of the arena.

"The economic and social restructuring required to adequately serve the needs of our citizens necessitates sound methodology and planning. Through the diligent efforts of my council and representatives of the citizens, we have drafted and approved several programs designed solely to better the plight of Nethic." Again he was met with a mixed response from the crowd. "Even now we are building the infrastructure that will ensure the total success of these programs. We are committed to delivering on all of our promises." He raised his fist, "I swear, we will not claim victory until each and every one of Nethic's citizens are able to benefit from the bounty and prosperity of our labor. But we need your support and absolute loyalty." His voice thundered, "Traitors to Nethic will not be tolerated!" For the first time the roar of the crowd was overwhelmingly positive.

He signaled to the executioner to man his station. "For the glory of Nethic!" he cried out. The crowd responded as one, "For the glory of Nethic!" He signaled to the guards, who responded by herding the prisoners toward the execution chamber. The drum beat grew louder and the throngs stomped their feet in unison. The King and Comron exchanged knowing glances, the delicate balance had been shifted. At least for the moment, it was the prisoners' blood the audience demanded.

With practiced ceremony, the executioner's assistants fastened the first prisoner to the deceptively harmless looking apparatus. The crowd reached a fevered pitch as the assistants signaled to the executioner that they'd finished their task. And he in turn looked to the King for a signal to begin the torment. King Van Laven nodded his consent.

With that the executioner passed his hand over a control panel. A blood-curdling scream pierced the air and a hush fell over the crowd as they watched the prisoner's body twist and convulse under the assault of the disrupter charge. Though it seemed like an eternity, it lasted only thirty seconds. Despite his earlier bravado, the prisoner now whimpered in remembrance of the agony.

The audience steeled itself for the next volley of tortured cries. The King looked over at the third vessel hovering next to his. There, in statuesque beauty, stood his queen accompanied by their daughter-in-law, wife of their second son, Rhence. The queen's face was a mask of practiced tranquility. Even at the crack of the new cries, she barely flinched, demonstrating her full support of her husband's orders. The grueling episode repeated itself one more time. Finally, the executioner stepped up behind the tormented prisoner wielding nasty looking blades in either hand. Once again, he looked for the King's signal to administer the final stroke. Crausin held his arm straight out level to his shoulder. He held the position a few seconds, then flicked his hand to a vertical position. Without hesitation, the executioner deftly drew the blades across the front of the prisoner's neck, easily decapitating him. The audience cried out in horror, but then lustfully cheered for more.

The next three prisoners were executed in like manner. The crowd's bloodlust grew stronger with each decapitation. The King began to grow weary of the whole affair. It was such a waste of competent officers, but now that they'd turned traitor they were of no use to him. He watched absently as the body of the fourth prisoner was removed from the apparatus in preparation for the fifth. Therefore, the next scene was quite surreal for him. He watched with suspended belief as three of the escort guards opened fire on their fellow guards. The remaining three prisoners swiftly moved into action retrieving the weapons of the fallen guards. The crowd erupted as total mayhem ensued.

As the royal guard poured around the King and his sons, Crausin witnessed a laser blast evaporate the energy field that should have protected them. Much to his astonishment, he realized they were completely vulnerable.

"Get us out of here!" he barked over the deafening roar of the crowd.

"Sire, we're trying, but navigation has been taken off-line," shouted the commander.

"What in the blazes!" he exclaimed as the vessel lurched downward spilling the men onto the floor.

"Shield the King!" Comron ordered before grabbing a laser rifle and leaping over the side of the vessel down into the melee.

"Comron!" Crausin yelled just before his royal guard encircled him cutting Comron off from his sight.

Before Comron hit the ground he'd already managed to drop two of the prisoners and one of the rogue escort guards by laserfire. Once on the ground, he moved with alarming speed, leaping into the air and twisting so that his foot landed a perfect blow on another guard's head snapping his neck. Immediately, he ducked and rolled to avoid a laser blast from the remaining prisoner. Off to the side he noticed that one of his royal bodyguards had followed him off the vessel and was firing on the last escort guard. In an effort to aid his fellow traitor, the prisoner took his eyes off Comron to fire on his bodyguard. This was all the time Comron needed to close the distance and engage the prisoner in hand-to-hand combat. While a laser shot would have been simpler, he had something better in mind.

To no surprise, Comron quickly realized the prisoner's adept skill at mortal combat. Fortunately, Comron trained with masters of the art and relished the opportunity to display his own dazzling skill. For a man of his height he moved with great fluidity and quickness. The prisoner let out a frustrated growl as it became apparent Comron merely toyed with him as he deftly deflected each of the prisoner's blows, while landing powerful counterblows. When he felt certain he had a fair share of the audience's attention. He delivered a debilitating blow to the prisoner's chest. Comron swiftly leapt up onto the torture platform retrieving the two hideous looking blades from the dead executioner. He loomed over the prisoner who remained upon his knees. Comron looked up into the crowd, holding the blades aloft .

A relative hush fell over the scrambling crowd.

"For the glory of Nethic!" he declared. The crowd erupted in a frenzy as Comron brought down the blades and drew them sharply across the prisoner's neck for a clean decapitation. The crowd chanted, "For the glory of Nethic, for the glory of Nethic."

Soon thereafter, the king's vessel regained control and swept down to pluck Comron from the arena floor. The King was immediately at Comron's side. "That was a very foolish thing you just did. It could have cost you your life!"

"But it did not," he replied in an even tone as if his top coat were not covered in blood. "Further it worked to our advantage. Not only have we enforced our intolerance for treason, we've also announced to the world that our family itself is a force with which to be reckoned."

Crausin couldn't hide the pride from his eyes as he observed that Comron might prove to be the finest King Nethic had ever known. He reaffirmed in his heart to do all necessary to preserve the kingdom, thereby leaving Comron the grand legacy he deserved. In the meanwhile, he was still Comron's father and king.

"Nonetheless," he replied sternly, "from here on out, you leave the dirty work to those who can afford to get dirty. It won't do well to have the future King of Nethic and principal partner at Van Laven Capital romping about chopping off heads!"

They ascended out of the arena through the roof. "I was never in any—"

"This is not open for debate, Comron!" Crausin snapped. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sire," Comron respectfully replied, seeing their conversation was drawing the attention of his brothers and the bodyguards.

"Good. Now we can move onto more pressing matters."

"Precisely, like how deeply does this infiltration go into our military ranks. In order to gain access to our ship's navigation system…" Comron shook his head.

"Thankfully, you left one of the guards alive. He will be revived and the interrogation will begin soon. I assure you, he will tell us all we need to know."

**CHAPTER 2**

Lady Vaush Bastionli, second daughter of Count Larrs Bastionli, and fourth in line to the throne of Ti-Laros, listened intently as the Mobias agent expounded on the wonders and capabilities of the new industrial software that promised to increase operating efficiencies by up to 75. The process engineer proceeded to explain how virtually all of the manual functions within the business flow would be automated with this cutting edge technology.

Here conducting family business, Vaush was one of fifty potential investors who had arrived on Patheis this morning to attend the presentation. Count Larrs Bastionli, reigning czar of Ti-Laros, requested that she attend, wishing her to hone her negotiating skills. This was the first major deal she'd facilitate on her own. His confidence in her filled her with a tremendous sense of worth and accomplishment. Though she'd graduated with advanced degrees in executive business directorship, Larrs' tutelage had been the finest instruction anyone could have hoped to received. Earning her father's respect was a great aspiration of hers. Given this prime opportunity, she hoped to realize that goal.

"As you are well aware, the industry in which we operate is highly competitive and prone to industrial espionage," the Mobias agent said with a sly smile. "Therefore, we've developed this project outside our local facility in favor of a remote location to which only a handful are privy."

This came as no surprise to Vaush, being that Larrs had already apprised her of such. He also instructed her to go incognito. If the agent had the slightest notion as to who she was, she would lose her negotiating leverage. Any worthwhile agent would change his tune if he knew that he was dealing with one of the wealthiest families in the system.

"So, if you would all please follow me, I will escort you to our transport which will take us to our remote facility."

Vaush rose along with the others and headed for the door. She surveyed her fellow investors for familiar faces. Larrs warned her that others of the sovereign houses would likely be present and that they too would attempt to hide their identity.

Disguised in the apparel of a Murselian businesswoman, she received no deferential treatment from her counterparts. No one cleared a path as she approached or looked upon her with any degree of reverence. Being a member of the aristocracy, it was an odd sensation, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. The material of her veil allowed her to see outward, but permitted no one to see her face. Her father agreed that her disguise was an excellent choice.

As they followed the agent down the corridor, she caught sight of a tall Tellurian investor. There was something about his gait that set him apart from the crowd. He walked with such self-assurance, bordering on arrogance, obviously someone well aware of his worth. As he strode through the group of investors, they naturally parted for his passage as if they too sensed the regal air about him.

She wondered if he were a member of one of the sovereign houses. With his face obscured by an ornate helmet, she could not be certain. One thing was obvious, this was no mere Tellurian investor. Was he so cocky as to believe he could negotiate a good deal, despite broadcasting his financial status? The fact that he chose to leave his face obscured indicated he wasn't willing to completely tip his hand.

She followed the rest of the crowd determined to focus on her own negotiating strategy.

They were halfway through the ride when an attendant once again approached Vaush and asked if she could refresh her beverage.

"No thank you. I'm fine," she replied. The cabin attendant smiled and moved on to the next passenger. Vaush adjusted her seat to a more relaxing angle and began going over what her father referred to as the 'finesse of negotiations.' Never—

Suddenly, the transport dropped sharply, jostling the passengers and spilling their drinks, before regaining control. Startled, the passengers frantically looked about the cabin shouting for some answers. The attendants scurried about calming the passengers and cleaning up spilled beverages.

But it was obvious to Vaush, and probably to the others, that the attendants were just as disconcerted as the passengers. The Mobias agent hurried down the aisle and disappeared into the cockpit.

With shaken nerves, Vaush waited along with the others to hear any information. The agent quickly emerged from the cockpit with a magnanimous smile of false bravado.

"Gentle ladies and sirs, we have just gone through an air pocket and do apologize for the roughness of the ride. Please everyone sit back, relax, and enjoy the remainder of the ride. We will be landing shortly."

_Air pocket, my eye_, Vaush thought. Even the most rudimentary navigational systems were equipped with sensors that alerted them to such air anomalies, so as to easily avoid them. The frightened looks on the attendants' faces warned her that something terrible was amidst and the sooner they landed the better.

Looking around the cabin, Vaush noticed that everyone else seemed relieved and content to believe the agents explanation. No one else looked terribly concerned. As she gazed about the cabin, she sensed someone staring at her. Discreetly, she turned toward the back of the cabin to find the tall Tellurian staring back at her, or at least looking in her direction. She wondered if he, too, sensed that something was very wrong with the flight.

Just then, a hundred thunderclaps exploded all around Vaush, and darkness enveloped the cabin. Horrified screams filled the air as the vessel plunged downward through the atmosphere. The sound of crunching metal eerily ripped through the air drowning out the fearful screams of all aboard. Looking on in horror, Vaush saw the cockpit being torn off the front of the transport. She heard her own piercing scream as the wind whipped through the cabin. A foot struck her in the head as two attendants were sucked out the gaping whole. The two rows of passengers before her were flung through the hungry maw. This was the last thing Vaush saw before a sharp blow rendered her world into darkness, as the transport plummeted toward the planet beneath them.

**CHAPTER 3**

King Crausin Van Laven was in the middle of his weekly meeting with his privy council in preparation for tomorrow's global summit when he received the emergency distress call from Comron. The message was truncated and garbled, the only words he could make out were "…transport…going down..." The council members were shocked to see the King leap from his chair and run out the door like a man possessed.

"Get me the Patheisan government on the line, immediately!" he barked at his assistant while racing toward his private chambers.

"Yes, sire," the assistant said as she scurried to comply.

All the while, he'd been trying to raise Comron's personal comlink to no avail. There was no signal being received, his line was dead. Desperately, he tried to raise the Mobias Technologies executives in search of some answers. He finally got through to some low level assistant at which time he announced who he was and insisted he be put through to the Executive in Charge.

"Sire," his assistant's voice came over the intercom, "I have the Patheisan chief liaison on the line, was there someone specific with whom you wish to speak?"

"I want the prefect of the eastern district!" he snapped.

"Yes, sire," she replied.

He paced the floor anxiously as he waited to hear from the Mobias EIC. What in the hell had happened? Crausin thought, as his heart pounded and his palms grew sweaty. The time of the call coincided with the time Comron would have been aboard the transport to visit the production site. But the cryptic message left much unsaid. What happened to the transport? Why couldn't he raise Comron? He shoved his hands down into his pockets to keep them from trembling as he considered the worst.

"Grand Duke Van Laven," said the Mobias assistant.

"Yes!"

"I'm putting through our EIC."

Just then the holographic image of the EIC appeared. He smiled nervously.

"Grand Duke Van Laven, this is an honor—"

"What the hell is going on? What has happened to the transport carrying the investors to the site?"

The EIC's eyes widened with shock.

Before the EIC could ask how Crausin knew about the matter, he added, "My son was aboard that transport, he was one of the investors!"

The EIC's face drained of color as he suddenly understood the world of trouble he'd just invited into his life. "W-we are trying to locate it now."

"Trying to locate it? How did you lose it?"

Fidgeting, he replied. "To avoid the local authorities we flew below the radar, which meant even we could not detect them. We know the flight path and where they should have landed. But we're still trying to figure out what happened in between."

Glaring at him, Crausin said, "Comron called from the transport to say it was going down!"

Wringing his hands nervously, the EIC answered. "We received a message from the pilot saying he believed there was a bomb on board."

"My God!" Crausin exclaimed. "And that was the last you heard from them?"

"Yes, my lord."

Crausin raked his fingers through his hair as the fear threatened to overcome him. He had to think clearly. "Is there a search party underway?" he snapped.

"Uh, we're trying to, uh…"

"I swear, if I don't find my son alive, I will wreak havoc upon your mortal ass!" he barked.

"We'll have the search party formed directly."

"You make damn sure of it!" Crausin sneered. "And I want a report every half hour!"

"Yes, my lord duke."

"Sire," Crausin's assistant said, "I have the Patheisan prefect of the eastern district on the line."

"Put him through," he ordered after switching off the Mobias EIC.

The holographic image of the prefect appeared. From his calm disposition, it was apparent he was ignorant of the current situation. "Grand Duke Van Laven, to what do I owe the honor?"

"My son, the Prince of Nethic, was aboard a Mobias Technologies transport earlier today in your district. While en route, a bomb went off on the transport and no one has heard anything from them since. What are you going to do about it?"

The prefect was clearly distressed. "My word, this is the first I'm hearing of this! You said it was a Mobias Technologies transport?"

"Yes, they were taking investors out to their production site."

"Do we know their last coordinates?"

"They were flying under the radar," Crausin stated.

"Damn!" the prefect said, shaking his head sharply. "You realize how difficult it will be to locate them with no point of reference."

"I don't care how difficult it is!" Crausin bellowed, endeavoring not to give into despair. "You do whatever it takes to find him."

"Of course, we will—"

"I mean it," Crausin continued, "spare no expense. I will cover the cost for anything you require. You put every man you have on it. I must find my son!"

Hearing the desperation in Crausin's voice, the prefect decided not to waste a minute more. "I will contact Mobias now to gather the details. We'll do whatever it takes, Grand Duke. Please permit me to start now."

"Yes. I am on my way as well. I will contact you when I arrive."

"Very good, my lord."

With that Crausin switched off the link and the hologram vanished. His attendant peeked her head in. "Sire, would you have me contact anyone else," obviously, she'd heard enough of the conversations to discern what had transpired.

"Get General Stland on the line," he said, the distress heavy in his voice.

"Yes, sire," she started to leave, then said, "And several of your privy council are here inquiring about this matter."

But suddenly, it occurred to him that he didn't want to share this with the world. He didn't want anyone consoling or pitying him as if his son were lost. He knew that Comron was alive, he could feel him. He just needed to find him, to bring him back home. He cursed himself for having sent Comron on that damnable trip in the first place.

"You said nothing of the matter," he said to the assistant.

"Of course not, sire!"

"Inform them that I've been called away on an emergency and that the global summit will be postponed until further notice." He marveled that the affairs of Nethic should grind to a halt over Comron, but until he found him, Crausin would be inconsolable. The thought of him lying somewhere dying or already dead set off a trembling fit as he gripped his hair and gnashed his teeth. He struggled to force the images from his head and direct his thoughts down a more constructive path.

He left his office and instructed his assistant to patch the general through to his private comlink. He would arrange and lead his own search party. With that firm determination, he headed for the military compound. On his way, General Stland reached him. He apprised the general of the situation and instructed him to tell no one else. He was to assemble a team and the proper equipment to conduct the search and rescue mission. Crausin made one final call to their family physician commanding his presence on the team. But whatever he gathered had to be done in 30 minutes because that's when Crausin wanted to be underway to Patheis to bring his son back home.

**CHAPTER 4**

Vaush regained consciousness with a throbbing headache. Slowly, sounds of her surroundings began filtering through her awareness. Outdoor scents were breathed in and analyzed. Sounds and scents of a rain forest registered on her brain. Where am I? she thought as she willed her eyes open? They fluttered as they adjusted to the sunlight.

Laying upon the soft ground, she visually took in the surroundings. A green canopy of trees blocked a portion of the sun, which explained the relative coolness in the tropical setting. She wondered how in the world she ended up here. Despite the pain in her head, she forced herself to sit up. Like a flash, the memories of the exploding transport came back to her.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped, gripping her chest in horror. Her eyes darted about as she searched for other survivors. She saw no one.

The loud screech of a bird jolted her to her feet as she watched it fly out of the bushes. "Is anybody there?" she called out. No one responded. She turned in a circle as she looked about. Refusing to believe that she was the sole survivor, she picked a direction and headed out in search of other survivors.

In an effort to cover more ground, Vaush jogged along leaping over fallen logs and other obstacles. At this pace, the atmosphere soon became a sauna. She wiped her forehead as beads of sweat rolled down into her eyes. It was then that she stumbled over something lying across her path. Immediately, sensing that it was too soft to be a log, she stopped and slowly turned back.

"No!" she cried recognizing the Mobias sales agent. By the odd positioning of his neck, she knew right away that it was broken. But still she checked for a pulse and found none. Lightheaded, she stood and backed away from the body.

A stiff breeze wafted through trees granting her a bit of relief from the heat. In the distance she caught sight of something white and billowing in the breeze. Feeling revived, she dashed forward to investigate. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was some type of large parachute. A bit closer and she recognized that it was attached to what was left of the transport.

Apparently, it deployed in time to sufficiently slow their descent to prevent total disaster. She surmised that she and the other person she'd just passed must have been thrown from the vessel just before it touched down. Invigorated, she sprinted forward to the transport in hopes of finding survivors.

A few yards from the wreckage, she spotted another body sprawled on the ground like a rag doll. Upon closer examination, she discovered it was a woman, not much older than herself. Upon turning her over, Vaush jumped back at finding the woman's skull bashed in and bloody. She stood shaking her head.

"I can't be the only one!" Filling with a mix of dread and anger, she ran toward the transport. Stopping at the opening, she shut her eyes fearful of the carnage she might find. She took a deep breath to gather herself, then looked. Where there'd once been at least 50 seats, there were only three remaining, but no passengers. _Where was everyone else?_ She screamed in her mind. Were they all thrown about and dead? She couldn't be the only survivor! Mounting fear compelled her to get some distance from the sight. She hadn't taken two steps before she heard a moan coming from inside the cabin.

With her heart pounding and hope soaring, Vaush ran maneuvered her way to the back of the cabin. After shoving aside fallen chairs and debris, she found the injured passenger. Immediately, she recognized him as the tall Tellurian. He was lying on his side, so she carefully turned him over onto his back. That's when she saw the large shard of metal protruding from his abdomen just beneath his ribs. Blood soaked through his shirt and topcoat, pooling on the floor beneath him. He moaned one more time before slipping into unconsciousness. Vaush knew she'd have to act quickly or she'd lose him.

Frantically, she searched the cabin for an emergency medical kit. There had to be something, she thought. After searching a fifth compartment in the back of the cabin she found what she was looking for. Triumphantly, she returned to the Tellurian equipped to administer aid.

She knelt next to him, and began to speak, "The first thing we need to do is remove your helmet so you can breathe better." Lifting his head slightly, she unfastened the helmet and slipped it off. His dark, sweat soaked hair clung to him, slightly obscuring his deathly pale face. Despite its pallor, it was a very handsome face of chiseled features, but it was also frighteningly familiar. After wiping his hair completely from his face, it hit her like a thunderbolt. She almost stumbled as she scrambled back away from him.

Her brow furrowed in contempt. "Prince Comron Van Laven!"

She cursed the irony of the situation. A moment ago she was praying to find anyone alive, _anyone!_ But not a member of her family's mortal enemy. For years, longer than she could remember, nothing but bitter enmity had existed between their families. She recalled how her father seethed with anger whenever their names were even mentioned. Though she wasn't prone toward hatred of anyone, she couldn't resist the dark family tradition.

Under the circumstances, if it were only the age old feud to think of, she could have found it in her heart to help him. But Comron had proven to be an odiously barbaric man in his own right. One could not be fooled by his angelic countenance or outward guise of gentility. He was a deadly foe. She recalled the most recent images of him gleefully decapitating a liberation fighter and tossing the head into the crowd as if it were a sports ball.

"You should have had the good sense to die in the crash," she stated coolly, then looked at the medical kit. "You'll have to find someone else to play physician for you."

The true irony was that initially, the worlds of Nethic and Ti-Laros had been close allies. Over 300 years ago there were many major planets that fell outside the boundaries of the empire. Nethic and Ti-Laros were two such worlds. As allies, they swore to come to one another's aid when the Emperor advanced upon them in an effort to subject them to the empire.

During a time when the Ti-Larosian military was preoccupied on another campaign, Nethic came under attack from the empire. Though they put up a valiant fight, the sheer size of the imperial army proved to be too powerful. They held up under siege for as long as they could, praying that the Ti-Larosian army would arrive soon to reinforce them. The more Nethic resisted, the more devastation their world suffered under the Emperor's wrath.

Nethic was finally defeated and their world utterly destroyed serving as example for all who would resist the Emperor. When the Ti-Larosian army finally arrived, there was nothing left for them to do but surrender to the Emperor and join the empire. As a result, their world was spared.

Though the ruler of Ti-Laros shamelessly courted their forgiveness and offered substantial aid in rebuilding their world, Nethic would have none of it, believing that Ti-Laros had intentionally delayed their arrival to avoid the battle.

Nethic was wracked with political, economic and social strife as they desperately tried to rebuild. Their leaders unified the people by focusing their animosity toward the Ti-Larosians. As a symbol of their unity and empowerment, the Nethicaens plotted to assassinate the ruler of Ti-Laros. The plan was successfully executed and plunged the two worlds into violent feuding as each sought retribution against the other.

When all out war ensued between the two worlds, the Emperor finally stepped in to force a truce. Though they publicly laid down arms, they secretly continued to wage war with one another. Centuries later, though the outward aggression had been tabled, the animosity between the two was alive and well.

Even though, the feud did not start with Larrs' or Crausin's generation, they'd taken the feud to new heights of treachery and deceit. Nothing brought either of them greater pleasure than to cause the other to suffer detriment. Vaush considered how delighted her father, Czar of Ti-Laros, would be to learn about the death of Crausin Van Laven's eldest and most beloved son. And when the Grand Duke discovers that his death could have been so easily prevented, he would simply be driven mad. It would be the ultimate revenge against her family's arch nemesis. What greater gift could she give her father? A thousand successful business deals would never bring him greater reward. Yes, it was settled. She would hand her father Comron's figurative head on a platter. Prince Comron Van Laven was every bit his father's son, a cruel, vindictive man who clearly deserved to die.

The first thing she needed was to find a com unit and get a rescue. She searched the area of the cabin where she found the medical kit. She managed to locate a simple homing beacon which should signal her whereabouts. As soon as my father learns of the crash, he'll send a search party to find me, she assured herself. She looked at Comron, she imagined that Grand Duke Van Laven would be just as eager to find his son. Perhaps she shouldn't set off the signal until she was certain that Comron was dead.

Either way, Vaush didn't want to wait around in this dungeon of death. She gathered some food rations, the medical pack, and a blanket into a sack and headed out of the cabin.

"Farewell, Prince Van Laven," she said with flippancy she didn't quite feel. Absently, she felt for the chain around her neck where she temporarily kept her family ring hidden. At that moment she had an inspiration. All members of the sovereign houses wore them, she thought as she gazed at her own. What better trophy and proof of his son's demise could they present the Grand Duke? For short of death, nothing would part Comron from his crest ring. Out of sadistic delight, she imagined Larrs would probably have it gift-wrapped and sent back to Crausin. Intent on this, she returned to the transport.

She knelt beside him and set the knapsack down. Taking his gloved hand in hers, she said, "I'm sure you won't be needing this where you're going." After removing his glove, she noted his hand, how masculine and strong it appeared. But instantly, she remembered all the bloodshed his hands had caused. The ring didn't come easily. She glanced up at his face again and considered that this was an act worthy of a Nethicaen. Disgusted with herself, she threw his hand down and abandoned the idea. Once again she stood to leave, but then she heard him moan.

His eyes opened slightly as if that were all the strength he had. She could tell that he had no visual perception at all. But somehow he sensed that she was near.

"Help me…" was all he managed.

Vaush stood frozen in her tracks. Something in his plaintiff cry struck a chord in her heart. She wrestled with indecision as her heart and mind struggled for the correct thing to do. Inexplicably, something deep within her caused her legs to move as if they had a mind of their own. Before she knew it, she was kneeling at his side again.

What in heavens name am I doing? I should get up and get the blazes out of here. She reasoned that if the situation were reversed, he would surely leave her to die. With that in mind she started to rise.

"Please…help me."

_Heaven's sake! _She trembled with uncertain turmoil as she gazed down upon him. _He's Nethicaen royalty, let him die!_ She screamed in her mind. But all she saw before her was a dying man in desperate need of her help. Vaush's whole life had been dedicated to philanthropic endeavors, her passion was improving the plight of those less fortunate. Though Comron didn't fall into that category, he was in dire need of her aid now. She couldn't believe how difficult it was to turn off her compassion. Or how difficult it was to ignore the proddings of her conscience to override the years of hate indoctrination and do the noble thing. As if in a trance, she watched her very own hands pull the medical kit out of the sack and open it. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "Forgive me."

Recalling basic first aid instructions, she began administering aid to Comron's wound. Mercifully, she gave him a hypo spray of anesthesia to his lower chest before beginning the grisly business of removing the shard of metal embedded deep within his flesh.

Notwithstanding the anesthesia, he grimaced with pain as she pulled the shard free of his torn flesh. The act of pulling out the shard caused blood and guts to gush forward. The wave of nausea the sight elicited almost made her pass out. But somehow, she managed to hang on and push as much back into place as possible. Thinking this couldn't be very sanitary, she grabbed the antiseptic and administered some before using the flesh mender apparatus to close the wound and accelerate the healing process. Using some carbonated water she'd found, she tried her best to clean off the excess blood, for he was a horrific looking mess. Finally, she pulled a large bandage from the kit and carefully placed it over the now rapidly healing wound.

"There," she sighed. Her bloody hands trembled as she wiped one across her forehead. She was no physician, but she did the best she could under the circumstances. A storm of emotions raged in her as she tried to comprehend what all just happened. Every ounce of her Bastionli being berated her for what she had done. The word traitor stabbed at her. Anxiety gripped her as she imagined bringing down the ire of Larrs Bastionli and all Ti-Laros upon her head. Yes, her own father he was, but could he ever understand what his daughter had done, much less forgive her? Even she couldn't fully comprehend why she had saved her nemesis, how could she possibly attempt to explain it to Larrs?

"What have I done?" she whispered. But as she looked down at Comron, she saw not just an enemy, but a life. Simple human compassion won out over years of animosity. Jumping to her feet she gathered up her knapsack. She had to put some distance between her and Comron, perhaps Larrs would never have to learn of her betrayal. As she approached the opening of the transport, she immediately saw that the skies had become purple and thick with ominous clouds. Just then a fat raindrop splattered on her head.

"Not now!" she protested.

The drops paid no heed as they began falling even faster with such force that within seconds she could barely see three yards in front of her. Cursing the downpour, she stepped back up into the shelter of the transport's cabin. She glanced over at Comron as he rested. Already his face was regaining a healthy glow. He'd soon be regaining consciousness but it would be hours before he would be up and around.

The sound of distant thunder rumbled beneath her feet as the downpour grew louder. Until the storm let up, she was trapped. She only prayed that it would cease before Comron was able to get around. There was no predicting how he might respond to her presence. She shuddered to think what his reaction might be to finding himself alone with the daughter of his mortal enemy.

Realizing that she wasn't going anywhere soon, she sat in one of the remaining seats in the cabin. Staring at the jagged edges of the transport, she wondered what could have caused such destruction. Had there been an engine malfunction or was there an explosive involved? She knew there was a strong possibility that a bomb had been planted aboard the ship. Industrial espionage was no stranger to this particular industry being as lucrative as it was.

But the violent acts were not limited to this arena. Vaush grimly acknowledged that such acts of terrorism were becoming increasingly common as the masses began rebelling against their oppressors. The aristocracy, particularly the sovereign families, used all means necessary to suppress the movement. But the more martyrs sacrificed to the cause, the more the movement grew. Some of the more shrewd aristocrats realized that change was demanded, but the majority sought further ways to hold onto all the wealth and power that they had acquired throughout the centuries. The pressure was building to a head, especially with the reigning Emperor on his deathbed. The galactic parliament wielded its authority without check, tightening its hold on the masses. Though the Machellian system had enjoyed a relative measure of peace for the past century, if something wasn't done soon it would be plunged back into utter chaos.

"Thank you."

Vaush whipped around at the sound of the rich masculine voice. Comron's eyes were still closed but a healthy tone had returned to his face. His breathing was steady and strong. She remained silent and motionless.

"Are you still there?" he asked, as his eyes fluttered open.

Vaush's heart pounded in her chest. "Y-yes, I am."

He blinked his eyes and squinted. "My vision is blurred, I can't quite make out anything."

Vaush let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "It's probably just the affects of the medication that I gave you. I'm sure that it will clear up soon." She looked outside, but the rain fell just as steady as ever.

Comron turned his head to either side to look about. "Are there any other survivors?"

"So far, there's only you and I. The others I encountered were not so fortunate."

"Oh," was his reply. "And you? Were you injured?"

Putting her hand to the dried blood spot on her head, she said, "I'm fine. I was thrown from the transport shortly before the impact." Conversing with her enemy like this left Vaush as bewildered as ever. As civil as it all seemed she still kept her guard up.

"I suspect that the Fetawa Consortia was behind the attack."

It didn't surprise Vaush that he too concluded that it had been a deliberate attack, not an accident. "The Fetawa Consortia? Not very likely. They lack the stomach for such tactics."

"True, but they don't lack the stomach to hire someone to do it for them. I'm sure they didn't ask for any details, just asked that the situation be dealt with."

"What would provoke them to do such a reckless thing?"

"The Patheisans stole their technology from a member of the Fetawa Consortia, this was their version of pay back."

Larrs hadn't disclosed this information to Vaush. It didn't mean he wasn't privy to it, it just meant he didn't find it necessary to reveal it to her. "You knew this, and yet you were willing to finance the further research for the Patheisans?"

He smirked. "The Patheisans were charging a much lower entry fee, thus a much higher return on the investment."

"I can see the logic in that, duplicitous as it may be."

"Whether or not you knew it was stolen, anyone investing in it would have been culpable."

"Yes, but some of us more than others." Despite the fact that it was all out of her control, Vaush felt a sense of defeat at not arranging a successful business venture for her father. These sort of circumstances never seemed to occur with her brother Skarus. Everything he touched turned his father a handsome profit.

"How long do you think it will be before we are found?" she asked.

"That all depends. Patheis has an unusual atmospheric phenomenon. The suns radiation plays havoc with their communication systems, particularly near their equator. Basically, what this means for us is that normal sensors will not be able to readily detect us. The best solution is to get to the shore. The atmospheric disturbance is not as significant there."

Vaush sighed. "Fine, but which direction do we head in?"

He attempted to sit up and groaned.

"Careful!" she interjected.

"We were traveling along the shore before we crashed. So it can't be too far away. The forest is riddled with rivers and creeks that run into it. It just might take us a day or two to walk there."

"Well, you won't make it ten yards unless you give yourself a few more hours to heal." She turned to look outdoors. "Not to mention the fact that there is a raging monsoon out there." She hoped to delay his departure so she could escape while he was asleep.

When he failed to reply, she turned to look at him. "Wouldn't you…"

His eyes were fixed upon her with full recognition. His voice was cold and controlled. "Vaush Bastionli."

Her heart pounded wildly, as she struggled to force down her trepidation. Given the present circumstances, he had far more to fear from her, than she from him. Nevertheless, this was a very delicate moment. She watched the emotions play across his face, shock, anger, and incredulity. He looked down at the bandage below his ribs, then back to Vaush.

"Yes, Comron Van Laven," she replied, demonstrating that she knew exactly who he was as well, "I am indeed, Vaush Bastionli."

She saw rage flash in his stunning greenish-blue eyes. "What is the meaning of this? Is this some sort of deception of you fathers!" He demanded.

"My father?" she exclaimed. "You must be completely insane! Just which part of this nightmare are you suggesting that he is responsible for? The part where I was almost killed in an explosion, or the part where the only other person I found alive was….you!"

He remained silent but stared skeptically at her.

"Think about it," she said snidely, "if this were a plot of Larrs to kill you, do you still think you'd be breathing right now?"

"So let's get to the heart of it!" he retorted. "Why am I still breathing?"

Shifting uneasily, she replied. "Because I saved your life."

"You know damn well what I mean. Why did you bother?"

For just a brief moment she saw vulnerability in his eyes, before the stone coldness returned. What logical explanation could she give? The truth would be incomprehensible to a creature such as Comron.

"I gave you medical attention before I pulled off your helmet and realized who you were and by then," she shrugged, "the deed was done."

"You're a lying crock of shaite,"he said, in a crude attempt to provoke the truth out of her.

Her hazel eyes blazed as she stood from the chair. Just in case she had any doubt left that saving his life was the worst mistake she'd ever made, he just confirmed it. "I liked you a lot better when you were dying," she said, fingering the laser knife in her pocket. She approached, looming over him. "I can always correct that mistake."

He stared smugly at her as if to say, _and now Bastionli, you show your true colors. _All the while, calculating how quickly he'd need to move to retrieve the laser gun holstered at his leg.

But she refused to be goaded. "On second thought, my judgment was as impeccable as ever. What better punishment for you than to spend the rest of your worthless Van Laven life knowing that you owe it to a Bastionli? " It was her turn to smirk, as she walked away.

He opted to hold his tongue, only a fool would continue trading insults in his present condition. With his fresh wound, it was best that he lay immobile and let it heal. He brushed his hand over the bandage, and was plagued with the question of why she helped him.

"Look, at the moment the only thing that interest me is getting rescued. So do you think that for the time being, we could put aside how much we despise each other long enough to get rescued?"

Skepticism tainted his expression, as he hesitantly replied, "Fine." He figured, until he was well enough, it was best to keep her content.

The rain continued to drum loudly on the roof of the transport. "There's no telling how long this is going to continue," she said, motioning toward the opening. "Which is just as well considering you're in no condition to travel presently."

He glared openly at her with brilliant eyes. "That may well be true, but nothing prevents your expedient departure."

"I've already told you that I do not know where the shore is!" she snapped

Contempt filled his face, as he spoke condescendingly, "When the rain stops, follow the downward flow of the streaming water. It can't be more than a day or two's walk to the nearest shore. I hope you can manage that because I have absolutely no intention of traveling with you!"

Vaush took slow steps forward, barely containing her ardor. "You…ungrateful, self-serving, asinine, _son of a Van Laven whore_!"

The insult hung in the air like a thick cloud, as the rain thundered down.

"And just how, pray tell," he scowled as disdain dripped from each word, "do you think your father is going to react if he discovers us together, not to mention the fact that his daughter, _accidentally_ saved the life of his worst enemy?"

Vaush was taken aback. Facing her father with this information struck mortal fear into her heart. As much as she hated to concede the fact that Comron was right, she had no other choice. Indeed it would be best for them to be found as far away from each other as possible.

He wondered what truly drove her to save his life. How could she possibly benefit from keeping him alive? The questions left him confounded.

"Very well, then. As soon as the rain lets up, I'm leaving," she said, but cast an appraising eye at him. "Will you agree never to mention anything about this once we're rescued?"

Making any kind of agreement with a Bastionli unsettled him, nonetheless, he nodded. "Rest assured, I will never mention it."

For the first time since he realized who she was, the distrust and skepticism had noticeably abated from his face.

As Comron lay there contemplating his predicament, he looked down at his bandages. There was only a dull ache where there should have been excruciating pain. Obviously, in addition to attending his wound, she administered a local anesthetic. The question of why still plagued him. There must be some ulterior motive he hadn't considered, otherwise her actions were totally inexplicable.

He wondered what Crausin would make of this. _Crausin_, he thought. He wondered if his message got through to him. He lifted his arm to check his chronometer, it was only the second hour of the afternoon. Comron wasn't due back till the evening. As he lay there, he recalled his last conversation with Crausin from earlier this morning.

"_If it isn't my long lost son, back from yet another adventure," announced Crausin as Comron strode into his penthouse suite of Van Laven Towers. "Prince Comron, to what do I owe the honor?" _

_Comron grinned as he gazed at his father. Despite the fact that Crausin was 27 years his senior, he could easily be mistaken for Comron's slightly older brother. It was often commented that the two were the mirror image one another. Only the two of them truly understood why. "I was only gone a day. And you are the one that asked me to oversee the consummation of the merger." He said accepting the drink his father offered. "Which went exceedingly well, mind you." He sat across the table from him._

"_With you at the helm, I expected no less," he said tapping his glass to Comron's. "Once you take care of the Mobias deal, we can wash our hands of it." He stuck his fork into a piece of fruit and ate it._

_Looking exasperated Comron stated, "I haven't handled this level of a task since I interned in secondary school. Since when does a principal at the most prestigious Investment Banking firm and future monarch of Nethic attend such affairs?"_

"_You know this is of the most delicate nature. If this software is not completely compatible with both of the company's infrastructure, the key conversions will not take place as scheduled. The stockholders are wary enough as it is, we don't need any setbacks of that magnitude. We need to make a final decision on whether we go with Mobias Technologies or Cynercorp."_

"_Granted, but this is a most inopportune time. We still have the infiltration issue with which to deal."_

_Crausin raised a brow. "Comron, we have already rounded up over 200 hundred alleged conspirators. We have our best men on it. Nonetheless, it will take time to sufficiently interrogate them all. In the meanwhile, we have business to attend."_

"_I know, I know," Comron said, as the attendant set a plate of food before him. "But could Mobias Technologies have found a more backwater world to manufacture their ware?" He placed his napkin on his lap and picked up his fork._

"_It can't be glamorous all the time," Crausin said, with a charming smile._

"_All the same, you could have saved this one for Rhence," he said referring to his younger brother. "Speaking of which, I happened to pass him and counselor Dovern on my way in." Comron took a bite of food awaiting his father's response._

_Crausin wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Yes, I'm asking him to assist us in the syndication deal we're working on." He said nonchalantly._

_Comron quickly swallowed. "Not the Mersser Syndication," he asked clearly perturbed._

"_Comron, he needs the exposure to these high profile deals. We've held him at bay long enough." Comron placed his fork down and folded his arms across his chest._

"_Don't pout, Comron," he said setting his own fork down._

"_But I thought we agreed to train him in the core banking division, let him develop his competencies there first before we move him to the investment side."_

"_This is your mother's doing. Apparently, Rhence is complaining again that I'm neglecting him in favor of you."_

_Comron sighed contemptuously, as he resumed eating. This was the age old conflict. Sheally constantly nagged Crausin about spending more time with Rhence. Rhence had always been nothing but trouble, which Sheally blamed on Crausin's neglect. "Fine, but not the Mersser deal. I don't want any junior members on the team, it's too risky."_

"_Which of the high profile deals isn't?" he inquired raising a brow. "Have Ayers baby-sit him on statistical research for all I care, just give him something to do."_

"_Crausin, this is not the deal for him to cut his teeth on," Comron said, calling his father by his given name as was their custom in private._

_The charm left Crausin's smile. "You will do as I say, Comron."_

_Comron fixed his eyes upon Crausin, but remained silent. Presently he resumed eating in a sullen mood. Crausin tried to hide his amusement. Comron and Rhence were 29 and 25 respectively. On the outside, it appeared that the struggle was nothing more than sibling rivalry. But Crausin knew full well Comron's staunch resistance was born out of something much more profound._

_Crausin leaned forward placing his elbows on the table, he was all charm again. "Comron, you'll always be my ace. No matter how hard he tries, Rhence will never measure up to you." He watched as his words had the desired affect upon Comron._

_In a lighter tone Comron said, "I suppose I could find some low risk task for him to do."_

_It was so easy to stroke his ego. "That's the spirit. It will go a long way to please your mother as well. She likes it when her boys play nicely."_

_Comron smirked as he consumed the last morsels._

_His father eyed him discerningly. For so long, Crausin had viewed him as an equal, a partner, that it was difficult to remember that Comron was his son. "Surely, you know by now, no one could ever replace you. You are never to doubt that."_

_Comron reluctantly looked across the table at Crausin, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I know." He took a final drink of his juice and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I need to run if I'm going to make it to the Patheis conference on time," he stood to leave. "Oh, my fauste team has made it to the quarter finals again, we play the second quarter night, shall I reserve your box?"_

_Crausin's brow furrowed. "Second quarter night?" His tiny com unit unfurled from around his ear, the optical component flipped over his right eye. "Let's see what's on my calendar that day? A meeting with the Minister of the Interior, an appointment with—"_

"_There used to be a time you didn't have to consult your calendar," he said, not finding his act the least bit amusing, "you simply said, 'yes, of course'."_

"_Clear my calendar for the second quarter night," he spoke to his com unit, then glanced up at Comron with a wolfish grin. "Yes, of course."_

_Comron stood there for a few seconds longer wondering why Crausin toyed with him this way. Crausin had always been his biggest fan, and enjoyed watching fauste almost as much as he enjoyed playing the brutal sport. "Good, I should be back by dinner," he said before tossing down his napkin and heading for the door._

"_Comron," Crausin called out, rising himself._

_Comron stopped at the door._

"_I'll see that there is something quite glamorous waiting for you when you return."_

_Comron chuckled. "Who is she?"_

"_A new courtesan from Percus 4," he said stated, "I'm thinking of putting her on retainer. You'll find her to be quite…talented," he said with a wry smile, " I know I did."_

"_Percus 4," Comron mused. "I'm sure she'll be lovely."_

"_Go easy on her," Crausin said in a lightly chastising tone. "Not all women are built to withstand the rigors of Van Laven mating."_

"_Then Recaban should only send the ones who can," he said unapologetically._

"_There's a premium charge for that."_

"_I want what I want. You know that."_

_Crausin just shook his head. "There's no reforming you, is there?"_

"_You'd have me no other way," Comron grinned wickedly. "I'll see you at dinner," he said before slipping out the door._

Two more hours managed to crawl by, but the rain poured on. Comron remained deep in a restful sleep as Vaush paced the cabin. Comron's words haunted her. Just how would Larrs react to the news that she saved the life of their worst enemy?Normally, her father was one of the most reasonable, even tempered men. But when it came to the Van Lavens, his temperament was borderline psychotic and his unbridled fury was a dreadful sight to behold.

"What possessed me?" she whispered. She glanced at Comron who slept peacefully. He had promised to keep their secret, but how could she trust _him_, a Van Laven? He knew this knowledge could tear her family apart. Fear gripped her heart. Would he use this weapon against her at his leisure? How long would she be in torment wondering when the ax would fall? But she could deny it, she could always deny it. Who would ever believe such a laughable story? It would be her word against his. But with no other survivors, who else could have saved him?

Eager to get some distance from the situation, she began to wonder if the rain would ever stop. She searched a pocket at her thigh for her chronometer. Seven hours had passed since they'd boarded the fated aircraft. She guessed that at least five of those hours were spent there in the craft. She walked over to the mouth of the vessel and knelt down to dip the loose part of her sleeve into the water to clean the dried blood from her head. When she completed the task, she retreated back into the dryer parts of the vessel, where she was astonished to find Comron on his feet leaning against the bulkhead.

His bloody shirt was still opened revealing a muscular chest and abdomen. The clean bandage gave evidence that his wound was healing well.

He looked warily at her. "You're still here."

She gestured at the opening. "Perhaps you'd like to brave the monsoon now that you have recovered."

Just then, a lightening bolt crackled loudly causing Vaush to leap from her spot. It was then that he gave full credence to the fact that Larrs had nothing to do with his predicament. Vaush looked like nothing more than a frightened child hiding from a thunderstorm.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked defiantly.

He laughed, a horribly derisive sound.

"Are you laughing at me?" Her voice dripped with malevolence as she took a step forward.

He walked over to one of the chairs and seated himself. "I certainly hope Larrs has done a better job at raising Skarus as a proper Bastionli then he has you. He must find you a rather grave disappointment."

"I knew I should have let you die when I had the chance," she sneered.

"Your folly is my fortune," he grinned sardonically.

Silently she cursed herself for saving his life, he was utterly insufferable and enjoying every moment of her discomfort. She glanced out again at the rain. Nothing could be worse than remaining here with Comron.

"So where did the old man go wrong with you?" he jeered. "Or did he simply choose not to waste his time on a weak female?" Demonstrating the chauvinistic mentality of the society that spawned him.

_Weak female! _She spun around to face him and quickly closed the distance between them. "If you're having a problem dealing with the fact that a Bastionli female saved your life perhaps I can remedy the situation!" Acting on impulse, she jammed her fist hard at his gut.

With relative ease he caught her arm in mid-air. His other hand shot out grabbing her by her throat. He rose from the chair, towering over her like a mountain. She felt the strength of his arms, feeling herself being lifted onto her toes. Her hands clawed at his to release her. His expression was the epitome of menace, as he tightened his grip on her throat.

Comron's voice was calm, but deadly. "If you ever attempt to touch me again," he said, giving her a shake, "I will snap your worthless Bastionli neck." He held her there for two seconds longer, then thrust her back with enough force to land her on her backside.

Completely shocked, she sat there, fighting back tears of humiliation as he stood over her staring down balefully. Of all the mistakes that she'd made in her life, saving Comron had to be the crowning glory. Never more had she regretted anything in her life and to compound matters, she hated him for stating the truth. This was evidence of her supreme failure as a Bastionli and she was certain Comron would waste no time promulgating this news.

With a suddenness that startled Comron, she leapt from the floor and dashed toward the opening of the vessel into the treacherous downpour. She had no idea where she was going, nor did she care. All she knew was that she wanted to get far away from Comron and the whole mess she had created. Within seconds she was soaked to the core, her long, dark hair was plastered to her head. But she continued to run, trying her best not to trip over branches or to slide in the mud. For all she knew she was running in one huge circle, but she had to keep moving, she had to find a way out of her predicament. Her legs began to ache with exhaustion and her heart felt like it would burst, but still, she pressed on determined. Suddenly, the ground sloped forward, causing her to lose her footing. Her arms flailed about, in an effort to grab hold of something, but slipped off the wet branches, as she tumbled down the slope. Her body was battered by rocks and roots protruding from the ground. She landed with a thud at the bottom of the slope. The rain pounded down, pinning her to the ground. Lacking the strength to rise, she laid there.

"Father…" she murmured before drifting into unconsciousness.

Back in the vessel, Comron stood at the opening staring up at the clearing sky. A light rain persisted but at any moment even it would desist. It had been a couple of hours since Vaush made her hasty departure. He wondered how far she could possibly have gone in the torrential downpour. He hoped she was far enough along so that they would not cross paths again. Nothing brought him greater satisfaction than when he managed to precipitate her flight. No longer would he have to deal with her questionable act of saving his life or tolerate her contentiousness. Absently, he looked down at his chest, brushing his thumb across the bandage. Regardless of the kindness she'd rendered him, she was still the enemy. The act had to be the product of some iniquitous motive he hadn't considered. He refused to let it trouble him any further. As he made for the shore, he thought to himself, _this is a secret I'll take to the grave_.


End file.
